Lily Hunt Weekly Creative Writing 2

Everything seems well, and then, the nighttime Whatifs strike again. I was worried about the Whatifs, I sure was. But those darn Whatifs wouldn’t stay away! Poor Shadow, my little black dog, couldn’t keep himself from sniffing around the little chest I so feebly tried to lock my Whatifs in.
So, late at night, I laid my head down on the bed and heard Shadow stirring from his bed. My little nocturnal Bichon Frise rose from his big, green, fluffy pillow and dawdled his way over to the burgundy cherry wood chest. I sighed, getting annoyed with his ritual habits, and rose yet again from my bed for another try and setting Shadow in his bad and coaxing him back into his peaceful slumber.
I attempted to lift my fat little black dog from his comfortable position curled up on top of the small chest, to no success. Inside that little antique chest, my Whatifs stirred and chirped hungrily to me. I watched the padlock on the front of the chest unlock itself, and suddenly my mind was filled with worry.
Whatif I ripped my pants bending over to get Shadow off the chest? Whatif I ended up cracking my head open on the chest? Whatif, Whatif, Whatif!? It was driving me crazy, my silly little curse. I couldn’t stop it, albeit I tried every night.
So I retired back to my bed and let myself drift away into a Whatif-filled sleep, letting my little demons bring me some interesting sleep. And an interesting sleep it was…
The next morning, when I awoke, I discovered that my little Whatifs had done more damage than I expected. Shadow’s bed was overturned, my little puppy hiding beneath it in fright, and the bedroom windows were blown out. The black and red chiffon curtains dangling over my shattered windows were shredded, almost resembling fabric that had been clawed at by a worrisome person.
It was then that it hit me. I was the one who did all this. In my worrying Whatif-filled dream last night, I had gotten up and sleepwalked all over my room. I must have had a particularly bad dream and gotten man when the curtains ‘attacked’ me. So I must have shredded them…
So, in a fit of rage, I lifted my little chest of dormant Whatifs and tossed it out the shattered, torn window. On the lawn, the nearly indestructible chest shattered, and I watched my little black Whatifs flutter away like butterflies, ready to poison the world with their horrible curse.
And strangely, although free of my Whatifs now, I had to think…

Whatif they come back…?